


The Very Hungry Caterpillar

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Sirius wakes up hungry, and finds a veritable feast lying next to him





	The Very Hungry Caterpillar

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

This started as a Queerditch_Pub drabble and escalated to its own fic.  Thanks to TOS for the beta.  The Very Hungry Caterpillar is the property of Eric Carl and his publishers, and is used without permission.  No infringement intended.

* * *

Sirius wakes up hungry, and finds a veritable feast lying next to him, sleep-heavy and producing soft, whiffling snores. He starts with fingers, kissing each fingertip slowly, nibbling on knobby knuckles, until the fingers flex (just a bit) and he realizes that he is still hungry. He finds a sharp elbow, and presses a kiss to the soft inside of it, flicking out his tongue to taste the early morning salt of James’ skin. He licks again, drawing a tiny hoof print with the tip of his tongue, and revels in the tiny hitch in James’s slow, even breathing, but Sirius is still hungry. He grazes his teeth over the space between shoulder and neck, finally tasting a shift of hips and a soft groan, and smiles against his meal.

“S’r’us?” James murmurs, his voice low and heavy with sleep.

“Shhh,” Sirius breathes, and tastes the side of his neck, blood rushing under his lips and tongue. James tilts his head and bites his lower lip softly, as if he wants more (much more) and less at the same time, and Sirius obliges, licking the soft spot behind one ear, then running his tongue along the outer edge, tasting summer-sweet sleep and freshly mowed grass. He moves to James’ sharp collarbone, tasting the pool of salt in the hollow of his throat and swipes his tongue across the bump of his Adam’s apple. James moves a sleep-heavy arm around Sirius’ waist, fluttering fingers at the waistband of his pyjama pants like feathers. Sirius’ hips buck up at the touch, pressing his aching hardness against the heat of Prongs’ thigh as he trails kisses down James’ breastbone, carefully, evenly spaced. He laves the flat of his tongue across one brown nipple, and James’ fingers wind into his hair, pulling him closer with a soft _‘oh‘_ and Sirius still can’t get over the fact that James’ arousal heightens _his_ arousal and every little sound pulls at his aching groin like a thread. He licks again, and then _sucks_ and James’ stomach contracts and his pelvis makes tiny, stunted movements, searching, searching for friction or something more.

The hand in his hair pulls him up almost harshly until they are face to face and James tilts his chin up just a bit before tugging Sirius towards him smoothly. Their lips touch softly at first, and then mouths open and tongues meet, tasting, owning, and wanting that _sweetsourspicy_ that comes when their lips mesh together so perfectly.

Neither knows nor cares who moved first because their hips are aligning and sleep-stiff fingers are fumbling, pushing down their pyjama bottoms just enough and _oh God finally_ hot, hard skin meets hot, hard skin and the only thing that exists is sweet friction and the taste of each others’ mouths.

James moans something into his mouth that might be _Padfoot_ but could just as easily be _Godyes_ or maybe _please more_ and Sirius’ hips buck because the sound makes it that much better. Sirius licks the angle of his jaw, tasting, and _grinds_ , and their skin is so hot that he thinks for a moment that they might just melt together and oh God how would they explain that, until James bites his shoulder and _sucks_ and Sirius can’t think anymore, can only feel and move.

He rests his forehead against James’ shoulder, thrusting against him faster now and savoring the low, keening moan that is coming from James’ lips and the salt-sweet taste of damp skin and the feel of Prongs under him, around him, writhing and bucking and shuddering and _coming_ hot and wet against his belly, and that’s all it takes and _OhGodProngs_ he is coming too, jerking and gasping against James, who finds his mouth hazily and kisses him, devouring at first and then slow and tender until the aftershocks fade and Sirius slumps against him, bodies melting together, weakly embracing, just barely holding onto one another.

Voices begin to waft in from behind the closed door, and James opens his unfocused eyes for the first time and nudges Sirius away. He scrabbles on the nightstand for his wand and performs a quick _Evanesco_  before tugging up his thin flannel pyjamas.

“Mum’ll be up here soon. G’back to your own bed.” Sirius kisses his jaw, and then his lips, slowly savoring his treat, before begrudgingly pulling his own pyjamas back on and climbing back into his own bed, sated, but still hungry.

The door opens a moment later and Mrs. Potter peeks in, smiling. Sirius might have once thought that her smile was too cheery for so early in the morning, but now he feels the lazy grin on his own face and forgives her for the way her voice lilts so early in the day.

“Morning, Boys,” she says, and reaches into her apron pocket with a smile, “An owl came for you this morning, James, says it’s from a Miss L. Evans.”

James sits up suddenly with a grin, shoving his glasses on, and reaches for the starkly white muggle envelope eagerly.

“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” says Mrs. Potter, and she winks at Sirius and closes the door again as James tears open his envelope and reads it three times, falling back on his bed with a loopy smile.

“She wrote me, Padfoot! Lily Evans wrote me a letter!” he says, and James doesn’t notice that Sirius’ returning smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Maybe she’ll have you yet, Prongsie,” he says as he claps him on the back half-heartedly.

Remus once asked Sirius why he despised Evans so much, and Sirius had brushed it off, saying he didn’t like her taking up Prongs’ pranking time, and hadn’t told him the real reason because Remus could never understand what is was like to be always hungry and know one day you’ll miss the taste of Prongs’ skin in the morning.  



End file.
